


Lemongrass

by Pigeon_theoneandonly



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Cooking lesson, F/M, Melancholy, Post-War, adjusting to life after catastrophe, post-ME3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25520752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigeon_theoneandonly/pseuds/Pigeon_theoneandonly
Summary: Letting go of the war has proven harder than Shepard ever imagined.  Luckily, Kaidan's there to help.
Relationships: Kaidan Alenko/Female Shepard
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	Lemongrass

The haunting quiet of a Canadian night along the Sunshine Coast still kept Shepard awake, even after two months. She missed the endless creaking of the ship, the muffled voices coming through the hatches and decks, the hum of the drive core lulling her to sleep. Everyone thought space was silent. She snorted and wrapped her arms around herself as she shivered on the porch, drawing a blanket close like a shawl. This was silence, this… lonely wilderness.

Footsteps fell soft on the cabin’s wooden floor. She glanced over her shoulder, and saw Kaidan padding barefoot to the door, still rubbing his eyes. Her face broke into a smile despite herself, quiet, tired. “Hey.”

“It’s cold out here tonight.” He rubbed his arms. “Can’t sleep again?”

“You don’t need to get up,” she replied, sidestepping the question. 

He glanced out over the property, towards the coastline a half-acre away. “It wasn’t this quiet when I bought it.”

This was where he’d sunk his L2 reparations, into this piece of earth, though the house came after the war. His neighbors weren’t ever sitting in his lap, exactly, but a fair number either hadn’t survived or hadn’t returned. But the lack of people wasn’t the problem. “It’s a planet. It’s never going to be—”

Shepard stopped herself just in time. But her startled guilty glance, at the near slip, said it all anyway. His shoulders sank. “Come inside.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

He put his arm around her and gave her a tug. “Come inside.”

The door swung shut. The main room was cozy in a hand-made sort of way. Kaidan’s mother had sent a seemingly endless stream of crocheted blankets, which now hung off every chair back and piled across the couch. Shepard made the metal-framed furniture herself in their own backyard. Kaidan spent his free hours scouring local extranet ads for books, and a coffee maker, lamps, cushions, anything anyone was selling or trading in the mostly cashless post-war economy. Earth could barely manufacture essentials, much less everyday comforts.

Now he walked over to the small corner defining their kitchen and lit the stove. She hiked one of those blankets higher on her shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll sleep better with something warm in you.”

She joined him, putting her hand on his hip, leaning towards his ear. “I can think of something warm you could put in me.”

That got her a quick snort of a laugh, as she hoped. “That just wakes you up more.”

But his brown eyes sparkled in the dim light of the slumbering house. 

She heaved a sigh, but pushed a lock of red hair behind her ear, and switched gears. “Need a hand?”

Flirtatious interest turned to surprise. “You want to help me cook.”

“Come on. I haven’t boiled a pot dry in weeks.” A touch defensive, but hell, she had been trying. It wasn’t her fault she never had reason or opportunity to learn to cook. At this point, her molecular composition verged on 100% military-issue freeze pack meals and MREs.

“That’s true.” He jerked his head at the cabinet. “Find me the coconut milk, and the stock.”

Kaidan’s kitchen staples came as something of a surprise. Beer and bacon she expected. His mother’s influence, not so much. Not that she knew a whole lot about Thai food to start with. “Where do you get this stuff?”

“My mom is friendly with every southeast Asian family in Vancouver.”

“Sure. But… citrus?”

“You’d be surprised how many people keep a tree in their condo. I’m negotiating for one, but nobody wants to give it up.”

“It’s just as well.” She pulled out a box. “I’ve killed every houseplant I’ve ever had.”

“You’re doing all right with the herb garden.” Kaidan said it with a straight face, despite them both knowing he did most of the work, especially after he caught her burying leftovers in the dirt to fertilize it. Gently, he explained about compost, but it still seemed like a load of middle-man work to her. He also explained about raccoons, which she had to admit had the weight of evidence behind it, in the holes and broken plants they left behind. But Shepard had learned to water and prune, even fuss over the plants, here and there. They seemed to enjoy the attention.

What was the other thing? Stock. Right. She opened the fridge and pulled out a plastic jug, the remains of a giant batch Kaidan made last week from all their vegetable scraps. It had been an experiment, but somehow, all of Kaidan’s kitchen experiments seemed to work out. 

“Put that in the pot,” he said, pointing. 

She complied, with one raised eyebrow. “Don’t you think this burner is up a little high?”

“It needs to reduce.” He gave the pot an expert swirl and set it back down. “We still have mushrooms?”

“I think so.” They’d stored up too much in the lower drawer. She sorted through the items. “What’re we making?”

“Soup.” He declined to elaborate, and began to slice the mushrooms. “We’ll also need lemongrass, cilantro, and some of those tiny peppers from outside.”

“You’ll send me out in this cold?” she griped, but she was already reaching for the scissors. 

He put down the knife. “It’s summer, Nathaly. It’s almost ten degrees outside. And the garden’s right beside the back door.”

“Anything south of twenty is fucking frigid.” Pulling the blanket tighter, she headed out.

The moonlight gilded the leaves in silver as Shepard sorted through the huddled plants, trying not to drop the blanket. Cilantro reminded her of home, the first home she ever had. Her grandmother grew bales of it in window boxes. Bending to cut some, she might have been six again, and smiled to herself in spite of the cold. Or maybe because of it— the Arizona desert took on its own chill at night.

Lemongrass was more foreign. Its pungency stabbed through the air as she cut it near the dirt, gathering several stalks. A side of Kaidan she hadn’t known, like the cooking, until recently. Sure he fixed a few meals in the apartment, back when the apartment was habitable. Seeing him now, it was clear he’d grown up watching his mother, and absorbed everything she had to teach. That added new depth to her understanding of the damage BAaT did to his family. It was easy to sense, lurking there even today, in every interaction between mother and son, but harder to interpret.

When she was done, she returned to the kitchen, and found he’d added tofu, galangal (not ginger, she reminded herself, firmly), the aforementioned limes plus some kaffir lime leaves he’d obtained god-knew-how, and fish sauce to the waiting ingredients. He smiled as he heard the door shut. 

“Here you are.” She dumped her handful of fresh produce beside his pile. 

“These look great. Take this.” He handed her the spoon.

Shepard held it like a dead mouse. “Wait a minute—”

He took the lemongrass to the sink. “Nope. This time, you cook, and I help. Don’t worry, I’ll walk you through it.”

Everything about this read imminent disaster. Kaidan noticed her frown, and pushed her arm towards the pot. “Add the coconut milk.”

It trickled in, aided by her tentative stirring. She put the spoon down. “Kaidan, look, cooking… My biggest accomplishment is getting a microwave burrito thawed the whole way through without drying it out. I know you want to do this whole domestic thing—”

He picked it up and put it back in her hand. “I have never known you to admit defeat on anything. What’s going on? Talk to me.”

She stared into the pot, expressionless face flickering in the burner’s flame. 

Kaidan tried another tact. “You’re not sleeping. You barely eat.”

“I…” She let the spoon go, and slumped over the stove, tiredly. “I didn’t expect winning to feel like this.”

His face softened. “That’s because we didn’t win. We just beat the reapers.”

She brushed some of the hair out of her eyes. He rubbed her shoulders, left a kiss on her neck. “Let’s just make soup, ok? Lemongrass is next. Smash it first.”

The damp stalks left small puddles on the board as she ran the knife through them, and then upended it and brought the butt of the handle down on each piece, _thump thump_. Then the same to the peppers. The motion was almost comforting; Kaidan made this soup a lot.

Kaidan slid sliced galangal into the pot. “Your turn.”

Picking up the lemongrass with the blade, Shepard watched it disappear into the white broth, only to bob back up again, filmed with coconut milk. Already leeching all its intensity and leaving the herb softer, milder, spent; having sprouted and fought through the dirt to the sun, grown tall and proud, only to give up all it made to this. Because she declared that this was its purpose and its end.

A fistful of bright leaves fluttered down over the lemongrass pieces. Shepard started. Kaidan’s brow furrowed, and he touched her arm. “You sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah,” she said, distantly. “I’m just tired.”

He watched her a few moments too long for comfort. “Even the squirrels know that.”

It caught her off guard and she laughed, as he clearly hoped she would. Just one chuckle. But it helped. 

“Tofu and mushrooms next,” he prompted. Shepard gathered them up and dumped them in.

She just about remembered to stir it every so often as they juiced limes and chopped cilantro. To her endless gratitude, Kaidan took it back to finish it when it came off the burner; she never could get the amount of fish sauce just right. Somehow, he’d gotten the rice cooker going while she messed with the soup, too. She liked dumping it all into her bowl with the soup, a practice that never failed to earn her a look of mock-disappointment that was half the reason she kept doing it.

They settled on the couch. For a few minutes, they ate in the quiet dark of the cabin, lined in moonlight, wrapped in blankets. Shepard had spent all her life in motion. Now she was trying to learn how to live with stillness.

The soup-soaked rice felt good in her mouth, something she could bite down on. Something solid and warm in her stomach. She hadn’t realized exactly how cold she’d gotten, or how hungry; each spoonful brought a little more color into the room. 

Kaidan sipped at his own bowl, smaller than hers, with a slight smile. “Feel better?”

She looked down into her nearly-empty bowl, and back up at him. “How did you know?”

“You skipped dinner. And lunch.” His tone just a little too light. “This isn’t easy for me either, but regularly crashing your blood sugar isn’t helping.”

There was nothing to say to that. “I don’t know what to do with myself up here.”

“Yeah.” He set his food aside and inched closer to her, settling his arm around her waist. “You’ve got a stack of requests piling up.”

“Busy work,” she scoffed.

“There’s never going to be another reaper war, and that’s a good thing.” He gave her a squeeze. “You’ll just have to subsist without the adrenaline and cortisol, high blood pressure, constant small injuries, and all those other things.”

“Tomorrow.” It was too complicated to unpack right now. She set the empty bowl aside.

“Tomorrow,” Kaidan agreed, and pulled her to her feet. “Now, let’s sleep.”


End file.
